


Back From The Dead

by twigglettz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blink and you'll miss it Jonmund, Gen, I think this counts as death, M/M, death?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigglettz/pseuds/twigglettz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon couldn't tell if he was staring at the sky or the endless abyss. He wasn't sure which one he'd prefer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back From The Dead

The tears froze on his face before he realised he was crying, cheeks too numb to even feel the burn of the ice anymore. Jon wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, couldn't tell the difference between the back of his eyelids and the darkness of the night, couldn't tell if he was staring at the sky or the endless abyss. He wasn't sure which one he'd prefer.

He could hear screaming, ever so faintly, a thousand miles away, chipping away at something deep inside his chest. He lulled his head to the side to see, movement stiff from the cold, and could just make out motion through the blurriness. Something was wrong, worse than wrong, but he couldn't focus enough to pinpoint what it was. There was an uneasiness that had settled along with the cold, and even though he couldn't feel it physically, couldn't quite figure out where it had come from, he could tell it was there regardless. 

He reached out, fingers sifting through the snow around him, and he could see the trails they made before they were wiped away by his forearm. They looked unfamiliar, his whole hand did. He blinked sluggishly, trying to shake away the ice crystals on his eyelashes. The skin was blistered, black in some parts and blue in others, ugly red welts littered over his palm, deep enough to see bone. He remembered the black, so much black, contrasting with the mountains above his head and the ground beneath his feet, but he didn't remember the colour of his hands. He brought it closer to his face, eyebrows furrowing at the thought that it should hurt, there should be _pain_ , but his mind couldn't recall what that meant, what any of this meant. 

The screaming was getting louder, ringing in his ears, echoing around him, the shapes moving faster, and he wanted to call out, to beg for help. His jaw cracked audibly when he opened his mouth, but he couldn't draw in a breath, lungs refusing to work, and when he glanced at his chest, it wasn't moving at all. There was something sticking out of it, lodged deep into the tissue beneath, and he realised he couldn't recall where that had come from either. 

It looked like a shard of ice, but he knew ice in his bones, and he knew it couldn't be. It was uneven and jagged, and he could see the darkness of his fingers through it from where he'd wrapped them round. The edges were cutting into his flesh, slicing through the layers the tighter he clutched it, but it was humming to him, vibrating through his chest and warming him so deeply that he couldn't bring himself to pull it out. It looked like fire in the darkness, burnt orange and red and gold, flickering the most vibrant colours and for a fleeting second, he remembered a man who shone so brightly, he put all that colour to shame. And then the memory was gone and the cold set back in and he wanted it back so badly, wanted that comfort and the heat so desperately, he pushed the shard in further until his broken palm was resting flush against his chest.

It felt like relief, or what he thought it used to feel like, and he rose to his feet, bones creaking and cartilage grinding. His movements were sluggish and when Jon looked up, he saw a man standing tall, blue eyes boring into the hole he had just made in his heart. He had roared, had lifted his arms, and Jon could hear him in his head, whispering and screaming until it was all he could focus on, all he could comprehend. It was a call to arms, an order, and Jon couldn't ignore it if he tried.


End file.
